Page 10 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

Verner nodded, satisfied. “Well, since you’re asking my opinion,” he muttered, “I think you’re playing a dangerous game, my friend.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Verner reached out, grabbed the Steinbeck, and tucked it hurriedly into his bag.

“It would be safer for you to loan it to me. I’ll bring it back next Saturday. That’ll give me a week to mull over your idea. I’m not saying it’s a bad one, but it requires more thought. Especially if you’ve got a forced closure hanging over your head.”

With a nod of farewell, Verner brushed past Madame Bergol and hurried off to catch his train to tango class.

* * *

Luckily, the afternoon was lucrative enough to make up for how quiet the rest of the week had been. A well-off couple just in from the countryside filled an entire bag with children’s books, all but emptied the crime fiction shelf, and picked over the general literature table for good measure. Mitch spent the whole day rushing around, answering questions and ringing up purchases. In the early evening, exhausted, he checked the accounts, prepped next week’s orders, tidied the tables and closed up – just as Mathilde arrived.

“It feels kind of mysterious in here when there’s no one around,” she observed.

“I’ve had too many mysterious days lately,” he replied, ushering her out the back door.

The dark courtyard had the anticipated effect. Mathilde clung to Mitch’s arm, but instead of veering for the street her gaze locked onto the coal hatch. She cast Mitch a sideways glance that spoke volumes of her interest in the reupholstered sofa, which she hadn’t stopped thinking about since their dinner the other night.

“Is that the entrance to the secret lair?”

“It’s just a cellar,” Mitch said.

“Tell me the whole truth.”

“Come on, we can have dinner wherever you want. I need a change of scenery.”

Mathilde pulled away and looked at him sternly, hands on her hips. “If you don’t trust me, fine. But if that’s the case I’d rather just go home. And I won’t be back.”

Her tone rang slightly false, but Mitch thought she might still follow through. He’d missed the last train of the day by now, anyway, and he had no desire to spend the night in the shop. The sight of Mathilde’s slim figure bent over the coal hatch sealed the deal. Mitch accepted defeat. He pulled the keys from his pocket and opened the padlock.

“You go first,” he told her, lifting the hatch. “And watch your step. The ladder’s wobbly.”

Mathilde climbed down. Mitch followed, one hand on the hatch handle as he shut it behind them.

And on the third floor of the building overlooking the courtyard, the old antique dealer who’d sold Mitch the shop watched them from his apartment window.

* * *

Mitch flicked on the cellar lights, went to the bookshelf and pressed on the back panel. There was a click, and the bookcase swung inward. Mathilde’s eyes grew wide. She stepped inside slowly, almost reverently, as if entering a crypt. She wandered the room, running her fingertips over the spines of books. Eventually she lit a small lamp on a side table and made her way to the bar. She hopped up on the counter, legs crossed, hands braced on the zinc.

“It’s just… magical,” she breathed.

“Yeah, guess I did alright.”

“This place deserves so much more.”

Mitch sighed. Criticism already? What’d happened to the starry-eyed admiration?

“You can’t just sneak people up and down the stairs, sharing only bits and pieces of this incredible treasure like some stingy old hoarder.”

“What do you want me to do, slap a sign in the window saying ‘Screw the Government, Banned Books For Sale in my Basement’?”

“Something like that,” she said with a smirk. “Just, you know, a bit more subtle.”

Mitch was too tired to banter. He looked pointedly at the ladder, hinting that it was time to go.

Mathilde pulled off her sweater and T-shirt, revealing her bare chest, her pale skin cooled by the night air. She beckoned him closer and wrapped her long legs around him.